Out
by LittleMissMuppet
Summary: ON-GOING. Kyle Broflovski comes to terms with who he really is...and who he really loves. VERY Style! OC: Abby Broflovski, Kyle's older sister
1. Chapter 1: Abby

**Hey guys! I _TOLD_ you I had something big coming! And here it is! Well, the beginning of it, at least!**

**Enjoy and review!**

**I don't own South Park, although that WOULD be pretty awesome...**

**...**

The first person I told was my older sister Abby…

I'd had a nightmare in which Cartman was leading an anti-gay, anti-Semitic cult that had sentenced me to death. I was stripped naked and bound to a chair, awaiting my execution while all of the cult members shouted and spat at me. Cartman was standing behind me with a freshly sharpened sword and was two seconds away from finishing the job when he stopped and stepped in front of me, smiling evilly and making a sweeping gesture to my right. I turned and saw Stan, also stripped to the nude and confined to a chair. Horrified, I watched him kick and struggle in an attempt to free himself. He looked up at me with an expression of terror and helplessness. My eyes grew blurry with tears and my throat began to throb from the sobs I was holding back.

Cartman giggled sadistically. "Well, Kyle," he said mockingly, "if you have to go, at least you're gonna go together." He walked over to Stan and raised the sword above his head. My eyes widened. I shrieked and kicked my legs, begging Cartman not to do it, but my pleas fell on deaf ears. About half of a second before the blade hit the top of Stan, the love of my life...I woke up screaming.

Abby burst into my room not even a minute later. "Ky!" she exclaimed as she clambered onto the bed and wrapped her arms around me. "What happened? What's wrong?"

A million thoughts raced through my head as I looked up at her. What happened? I'd had a hellish nightmare, that's what happened! But what was wrong? Jesus, what _wasn't_ wrong?

After questioning and wrestling with my sexuality for four years, I was thirteen years old and I had come to the staggering conclusion that I was gay. Not only that, but I had a crush on Stan, my best friend of nearly a decade. Not only _that, _but I was closeted, for Heaven's sake! Not only _that_, but I felt TRAPPED in the closet, with no way out! Not only _**that**_, but I felt ASHAMED about the whole damn thing!

I couldn't speak. All these thoughts were just too overwhelming. There was nothing I could do but cry. And I did. Right into Abby's shoulder as she pulled me close. I just sobbed incessantly. She cradled me and stroked my thick red hair.

"Ky, shhhhhhh…" Abby soothed in her sweet big-sister voice. "Tell me what's wrong." I've never told her this, but I like when she uses that voice. It makes me happy and calms me down when I really need it. It's like an auditory sedative. But I guess I don't need to tell her. She probably knows since I become visibly more relaxed whenever she uses it.

However, this time was different. Even with Abby's big-sister voice in my ear, I was hysterical, shaking all over, and sick to my stomach. I knew I needed to come clean (and out) to my sister. But I just couldn't. I was too scared.

"I can't tell," I sobbed. "I'm scared." It shamed me to say it.

"Ky, you can tell me," Abby replied. "You don't have to be scared. I'm here for you."

But I just continued to cry. I couldn't say it. I just couldn't bring myself to say "Abby, I'm gay." I just couldn't. It was too hard. I was afraid. Sure, Abby's my big sister and I should be able to trust her with anything. But I'd heard so many stories about gay kids coming out to their families, only to be excluded from them. What if…?

But I was about to find out that keeping it inside was going to hurt a lot more. The nauseous feeling in my stomach spread to my head. I felt dizzy, and my stomach churned with discomfort. Without meaning to, I retched. Nothing came out, but Abby and I knew that sound. I retched again. Both of our eyes widened.

Abby clamped her hand over my mouth and hurried me out of bed and into the bathroom. Luckily, the toilet seat was up, and I made it with a half-second to spare.

After I was finished, I sank onto the bathroom floor, pressing my face against the cold linoleum. I was sweaty and exhausted. I ached all over. I could have fallen back asleep right there on the floor.

Abby flushed the toilet for me, picked me up, and settled down with her back against the wall. After wiping my mouth with a tissue, she cradled me again and asked softly, "_Now_ will you tell me what's wrong?"

I was silent, except for my heavy breathing. I couldn't say anything. I was so tired. Throwing up can really take a lot out of a guy. My eyelids grew heavy and I laid my head on Abby's shoulder. I could feel myself slipping, falling back into sleep…I could faintly hear her trying to wake me up, but I just couldn't stay awake…maybe if I just rested my eyes for a minute, the dizziness in my head would go away…

The following moments were a dizzy blur. I remember being placed into my bed, on top of the covers, and I remember hearing a door in the hallway opening and then running water. Then I remember a damp and cool washcloth being gently pressed into my forehead. It felt amazing. I instantly relaxed and exhaled deeply. It had also woke me up a little more. I blinked a few times to make sure I was awake. There was moonlight streaming through my window and I could see Abby's concerned face above me. She took the washcloth off of my forehead and I sat up and looked at her.

Well, it was now or never.

"Abby…" I began. "I…I need to tell you something…"

Abby's face softened. I was _finally_ going to tell her what was wrong. I just hoped that her face would stay that way…

I took a deep breath and swallowed an uncomfortable lump forming in my throat. "Abby…" I started again. "What I'm about to tell you…may shock you…in fact, I'm almost too scared to tell you…because then maybe…you wouldn't…you know…love me anymore…"

Abby took my hands in hers. "Kyle," she said, "How long have I been your sister?"

I managed a half-grin. "Well, pretty much forever," I replied.

She smiled. "Believe me, there is absolutely nothing you could tell me that would make me love you any less than I always have." She gently squeezed my hands reassuringly. "Now what is it?"

My confidence slightly regained, I took another deep breath. "Abby…" I once again began. "I…I…I'm gay."

Silence. Nothing but silence for a moment. I broke it by burying my face into my hands and bursting into tears. I couldn't help it. I'd kept it in for too long and now I was reaping the consequences. I was so overwhelmed.

The next thing I knew, Abby was once again cradling me in her arms. I sobbed hysterically into her shirt. I couldn't stop.

"Kyle…" Abby whispered. "I'm so proud of you."

I took my face out of her shirt and looked up at her. "Y-you are?" I stuttered.

Abby smiled the warm smile only she could possess. "I am," she replied. "You're my little brother. I've loved you and I've been proud of you since the day you were born. It's my job as your big sister to protect you and support you no matter what."

I managed a wobbly smile through my tears. She hugged me.

The first person I told was my older sister Abby…

…And I couldn't have been happier.

**...**

**So Kyle is finally out!**

**Or is he?**

**This story doesn't end here...Stay tuned! There's much more to come! :)**


	2. Chapter 2: Mom and Dad, Part I

**Kyle believes he's completely 100% out. But his sister Abby thinks otherwise...**

**...**

The next people I told were my parents...

"Ky, you _have_ to tell them!" Abby urged for what felt like the hundredth, or maybe the thousandth, time.

I slammed my face into the bed. It had been only a week since I had come out to Abby, and ever since then she had been endlessly encouraging me to tell our parents. But I wasn't having it. It was just too soon. And…yeah, okay, I was completely terrified. I just knew that they wouldn't have the same reaction as my sister.

I looked up. Abby was looking at me with pleading eyes. "Kyle, please," she begged. "They matter, too. They need to know before anyone else." She took my hand. "And I'll be right by your side."

I managed a small smile. "Really?" I asked.

Abby smiled back. "Really really," she said. "You don't have to do this alone. I'll be right there with you."

My smile grew bigger. I truly am lucky to have a sister like her.

...

"Mom…Dad…" I began. "I have something to tell you both, as well as Ike." The five of us (Abby decided Ike should be in on this, too) sat at the dining room table. There was a huge lump forming in my throat. I swallowed. I could feel Abby squeezing my hand under the table.

"Yes, Bubbeleh, what is it?" my mom encouraged. Her smile was so warm that it made me sick with anxiety. It was like coming out to Abby all over again. But worse.

I stole a look at Abby, who gave me a smile. A "You can do it" smile. An "I believe in you" smile. An "I'm always here for you" smile. An "I'm your big sister and I love you" smile.

I relaxed when I saw it. She had so much faith in me.

I took a deep breath. "I'm gay and I have a crush on Stan."

Whoa! Where the hell did that last part come from? Sure it was true, but…aw, _crap!_

Yes, the morning after coming out, I had revealed to Abby that I had a crush on Stan, my very best friend. I don't know what it was about him…Stan was just so smart and funny and sweet and handsome and…_Stan._ Just the sound of his name was enough to make my heart flutter. But he'd been on and off with Wendy Testaburger since we were in third grade, so I had given up hope long ago that he would ever be mine…

My dad's mouth dropped and my mom was covering hers with her hand. Ike just looked downright confused.

I squeezed my eyes shut and bit my lip to keep myself from bursting into tears again.

My mom's hand moved to her chest. Her breathing became shallow. My dad put his hand on her back. Neither of them looked at me.

I balled my hand into a fist under the table. I was _not_ going to cry. I was _not_ going to cry…

My mother's eyes welled up with tears. "My baby…" she squeaked.

My father hung his head. "My son…" he whispered.

Ike looked concerned. "Mommy…did Kyle do something bad?" he asked.

Abby lightly touched my arm. "Kyle?" she said, and I heard her voice crack.

This was too much. I jumped up from the table and dashed to my room. I slammed the door and locked it, and then threw myself down on the bed and lost it. The tears flowed. There was no stopping them now. I buried my face into my pillow and just sobbed.

There I stayed for the rest of the day. I laid there on my bed, drifting in and out of both naps and crying fits, for hours. I just wanted to be alone. Each and every knock and attempt to coax me out was ignored. I stayed straight through dinner (Abby tried to bring me a plate of food, but I refused to answer the door to even her) and into the night, until finally pulling myself out of bed to change into my pajamas.

But instead of going back to bed, I slunk over to my door and pressed my ear against it. Silence. Everybody was in bed. Maybe I could try to slip into the bathroom and brush my teeth without calling attention to myself.

I quietly unlocked my door and opened it a crack. The hall light was off and all of the doors were shut. Except the bathroom door. Hallelujah.

I crept out of my room and took one excruciatingly slow step at a time, pausing after each one to listen for any signs of disturbance.

I was almost to the bathroom when I heard my mother's voice. It gave me a mini-heart attack and I spun around.

My heart rate settled when I saw the door to my parents' room still shut. My mom's voice has always had the scary ability to travel through walls.

"I'm _not_ angry at him, Gerald!" she was saying.

I froze. They were undoubtedly talking about me.

I heard my dad sigh. "Hon, I didn't say you are," he said. "I'm just saying, now that we know, we need to be the best parents we can be, not just for him, but for all three of them. We shouldn't exclude him just because he's…" He trailed off.

"_Gay!"_ my mother shot back. "Our son is _gay! _You can say it, Gerald! It's not that hard! And I'm not suggesting that we _exclude_ him, I just don't understand what's going on with him!"

My dad raised his voice. "Oh, so you give birth to and raise a child for his entire life, and then when he doesn't turn out like you and only _you_ wanted him to, you just want to cut your losses and push him away?"

I felt like I had just been kicked in the gut. I dropped to my knees and began to sweat. My own mother wanted to kick me out.

The next people I told were my parents...

...And I was very quickly starting to regret it.

**...**

**Sorry this chapter was really short compared to the first one but I'm extending this particular closet emergence to ensure a totally awesome story that y'all will LOVE! There is MUCH more where this came from, I promise you!**

**Stay tuned for more...**

**Feel free to review! But please, be nice. :)**


	3. Chapter 3: Mom and Dad, Part II

**Hi guys! Sorry for taking so long, but here it is! Enjoy and review!**

**...**

My head was spinning and I felt like I couldn't breathe. I had been dreading this potential outcome since the moment I discovered I was gay…but I really wasn't all that _prepared_ for it. I wanted to run back to my room and lock myself in again. But I was too much in shock to move, so I just continued to listen to my parents argue.

"Sheila, you can't use misunderstanding your child's sexuality as justification for wanting to kick him out of the house!" my father stated. "That's _not_ how you raise a child!"

"Oh, so now you're _supporting_ him?" my mother fumed. "You can't fool me, Gerald! I saw your head drop! Tell me I'm not the only one in this family who disapproves!"

My dad sighed. "I would, Sheila," he replied. "But then I would be lying."

I picked my head up, confused. Both of my parents' initial reactions reeked of disappointment…why was my dad defending me all of a sudden?

"Gerald!" my mother shrieked.

"Sheila, shhhhhh!" my father hissed. "I know you're upset, but keep it down! The kids are sleeping!"

My mom heaved an exasperated sigh, and then with all of the ferocity she could summon in a whisper, she sputtered, "I just can't believe you, Gerald!"

"What?" my dad whispered equally fiercely. "You can't believe that I'm doing what any _good_ parent would do when their child comes out?

"Okay, yes, I _did_ drop my head when he came out. Yes, I admit I was disappointed. And _yes,_ I was just as upset as you were!

"But the thing is…I was wrong. It was a knee-jerk reaction. So many kids in the media who come from religious families and then come out to their parents aren't accepted by them, and I honestly thought I was doing the right thing by feeling ashamed. But Kyle shutting himself in his room all day gave me time to do some serious thinking. And I remembered something very important.

"I remembered that Kyle is my son. No matter how much I choose to disapprove of his sexuality, if at all, he's still going to be my son. Even if we _disown_ him, he's still going to be our son, because disowning him wouldn't change the fact that _you_ gave birth to him, therefore it wouldn't change the fact that I am his father!

"When I held Kyle for the very first time after he was born, I made a serious and solemn promise to him that I would love him and care for him and nurture him and support him _no matter what._ No matter what dreams and goals and ambitions he would have, no matter what life choices he would make, no matter the type of person he would be as a whole. What kind of father would I be if I went back on that promise?"

My eyes filled up with tears. Happy ones. My dad was actually accepting my sexuality. I couldn't believe it. My anxiety slightly diminished.

Mom let out another exasperated sigh, and my happiness began to deflate again, like a balloon with the smallest rip. I had hoped that Dad's monologue had given her at least _some_ insight into the situation. But if I know my mother, I know that she is a tough nut, if not the toughest nut, to crack.

"Gerald," she replied, through what sounded like gritted teeth, "you and I both know EXACTLY what our religion thinks of homosexuality."

Dad cleared his throat. Even out in the hallway, I could practically see him holding up his index finger. It's what he does when he is about to, as he says, "prove a point."

And prove a point he did. "Yes I do," he said with absolute certainty. "Judaism believes that having homosexual thoughts is acceptable, just so long as the person who is having them does not _act_ upon them. But quite frankly, Sheila, I don't care! Because it isn't about faith. It's about my child's wellbeing.

"People in this town see me wearing my kippah, and they watch me attend synagogue every week, and they hear me speaking Hebrew and Yiddish and they just assume that my faith comes before all else. But the truth is, it doesn't. While that assumption may be true for _other_ Jewish men who wear kippahs and attend weekly synagogue and speak Hebrew and Yiddish, it isn't for me. In _my_ life, my children, and their happiness, come first.

"I refuse to allow my child to live a life where he has to hide who he really is just because the faith that he was raised with says so. He is our son, and as his parents it is our job to make sure that above everything he is happy and healthy, two things he cannot and will not achieve by suppressing his sexuality.

"Kyle is gay whether you like it or not, Sheila. And he is _not_ leaving this house or this family."

I nearly cried out for joy. I was not about to be excommunicated from my own family! I heaved a small sigh of relief.

However, it didn't last long when I realized that there had been nothing but a sickening silence after Dad had finished.

All I heard next was stomping. Horror resurfaced and I made a mad dash back to my room, tooth-brushing completely forgotten. I pulled my door shut as quickly and quietly as I could, then swiftly locked it. I staggered over to my bed and collapsed into it. My chest felt like it was being squeezed. _Hard._

"Sheila!" I heard my dad loudly whisper. "What do you think you're doing?"

"We'll just see who's going and who's staying!" she responded, not at all in a whisper.

_Oh shit, _I thought. I slowly began to descend into a panic attack. With every gasp in an attempt to catch my breath, my body grew more and more numb. My teeth even felt numb. It was as if I was being repeatedly injected with Novocain by a blind dentist.

A banging on my door sent an intense wave of terror over me. "KYLE!" my mother roared.

"Sheila, STOP!" my father shouted. All I heard next was scuffling sounds.

My heart pounded like a drum. I shot out of bed like a bullet. But I didn't answer the door.

Instead, I ran to my closet. I began to frantically pull shirts off of hangers and pants out of drawers until I had made a small pile. I grabbed my school gym bag from behind my laundry basket and stuffed everything inside, nearly breaking off the zipper as I sealed it shut.

I yanked a sweatshirt over my head and pulled a pair of sneakers on. Slinging my bag over my shoulder, I ran to my window and wrenched it open.

A blast of cold night air hit my face, and I stopped for a moment. _What am I doing?_ I thought. _Am I _really _doing this?_

Another blow to my door was a definite "yes", and I swiftly leaped out the window. But not before I faintly heard a nervous Abby call out, "Mom?"

It was too late. I hit the snow with a resounding _crunch_. And I ran.

**...**

**Again, sorry I made y'all wait so long, but this chapter was a particularly hard one to put together. But don't worry, I haven't given up on it! There's still more to come, so be sure to stay tuned!**


	4. Chapter 4: Runaway

**So Kyle has escaped...But where's he going to go?**

**This chapter was fairly easy, so I finished it quickly. Can't keep you guys waiting, can I? :)**

**Enjoy and review if you like!**

**...**

I ran.

I ran down the street, past the bus stop, through the otherwise hushed downtown region of South Park, and all the way down to Stark's Pond.

I stopped there to catch my breath. My heavy exhales produced warm, steamy clouds that each dissipated into the freezing night. My sneakers were sopping wet from the snow, and I shivered as I braced the cold. It hadn't really hit me until that moment.

With the cold came a stomach-turning realization:

I had nowhere to go.

I certainly couldn't stay here by the pond, much less anywhere that was outdoors. Every business except Hell's Pass Hospital was closed, but hospitals take in people seeking medical attention, not runaways. It was well past midnight, so most everyone in town was asleep. I was cold and alone.

But I wasn't…not really. There was one place…

I re-positioned my bag on my back and once again, I ran.

I ran until my legs felt like rubber and my lungs felt like they would burst. Even though the falling snowflakes stung my face and my soggy shoes were soaked straight through to my feet, I ran.

I ran until I was standing directly in front of the one place in this entire godforsaken town where I knew I would be safe in such a dire situation.

I ran around to the far end of my street.

I ran until I stood before the Marsh house.

I was here. Now how was I going to get in? All of the lights were off, and I knew they were all sleeping.

Stan's bedroom was on the second floor, and there was nothing I could use to climb up there. Simply knocking on either the front or back door was out of the question; I would run the risk of waking _everybody_ up.

It seemed like the only option left was to text or call Stan and ask him to let me in. I settled on calling since he would be more likely to wake up to a continuous ring as opposed to a single one.

_Please, God, tell me I have my phone,_ I begged as I zipped open my bag and dug through it. Finally, after a minute of frantic sifting, my fingers touched the scaly back of my phone's orange Otter Box. In my hurry to pack, I didn't remember if I had grabbed my phone or not.

I fished my phone out and pressed the home button. The screen illuminated, and I had to blink a few times in order for my eyes to adjust.

Two separate missed calls notifications greeted me…7 from Abby and 10 from my dad. None from my mom. That _bitch_…she really didn't care what happened to me.

I instantly swiped the lock screen to ignore the others. At that moment, I didn't care if my family was looking for me or not. I was on a mission to find shelter for the night.

I tapped the phone icon and opened "Recents". Right below the missed calls from my dad and sister…"Stan". He had called me just the other night to ask me if we had any homework for history class. Now I was calling him to ask him if he could take me in for the night…

My hands shaking, I lightly tapped Stan's name with my thumb. The screen went black for a moment, and then it confirmed _"Calling Stan…"_

I nervously raised the phone to my ear. I could feel another panic attack coming on as I silently begged Stan to wake up…

One ring…_Please answer…_

Two rings…_Please understand…_

Three rings…_Please help…_

Four rings…_I love you…_

"Hello?" a half-awake Stan drawled.

"Stan?" I said, my voice quivering.

There was a pause, then…"Kyle? Is something wrong?"

"I…I…I'm outside," I replied shakily. I began to feel dizzy again and I swayed like a tree in a windstorm.

"Outside?" Stan asked, now with more concern in his voice. "What are you doing outside my house at almost one in the morning?"

I looked up at his window. It looked very distorted. I slowly began to lose my balance. I tried to speak, but all I could say was, "Help…" before I fainted.

A desperate, "Kyle? Kyle?" was all I heard from the other end of the line before I blacked out and fell forward.

**...**

**Well, looks like Kyle is in trouble...Will he be rescued?**

**More is coming! Stay tuned!**


	5. Chapter 5: Rescued

**HELLOOOOOO! I have returned from...my life. Yes, I have one. And yes, it interferes with my writing. And yes, it is annoying.**

**But here it is! The next chapter! Enjoy and review!**

**A/N: A BIG HUGE GINORMOUS HUMONGOUS COLOSSAL THANK YOU to fellow fanfiction writer Jish, who has so graciously betaread this story for me thus far! This story would not be turning out so wonderful without him! Do yourselves a favor and go read his stories, they are really quite impressive ;)**

**...**

"Kyle?"

The voice sounded so far away and echo-y. It gave me a headache. I moaned and rolled my head from side to side. I was snugly tucked under three blankets and I could hear the hum of a heat vent. But I had no idea where I was or who was talking to me at first.

"Help…" I mumbled. I couldn't think straight. I was _beyond _out of it.

"Kyle? Kyle, wake up. Please wake up…"

Sluggishly, I opened my eyes. As I slowly came to, everything around me gradually came into focus. I found myself in Stan's bed, with Stan sitting up next to me, his eyebrows creased with concern. I could just barely make out his faded flannel Terrance and Phillip pajamas. The only light in the room came from the dim bulb of the Broncos lamp on his nightstand. But its faint glow failed to hide Stan's tear-stained face.

I groaned uncomfortably and tried to sit up, but Stan put his hand on my shoulder and softly eased me back down.

"No, no, Kyle," he urged, his voice shaking. "Just stay down, buddy."

I blinked a few times and gazed around the room in a daze. "What happened?" I asked. My head was pounding. I could barely remember anything…

"You passed out in my front yard and I came outside to get you. Then I carried you up here. I wanted to make sure you were warm enough, so I put some extra blankets on you and turned the heat up. Your feet were all cold and wet so I took your shoes off to dry them over the vent and I put some of my thermal socks on you."

I was silent as I wiggled my toes in disbelief. Sure enough, they were enveloped by thick wool. He'd done all this for me? "Really?" I asked.

Stan shuddered and shifted his gaze elsewhere, like he was having a horrific flashback.

"Yeah," he replied. "You were facedown in the snow, and I was praying that you weren't injured, or…" He looked back at me. "Why'd you leave home in the middle of the night anyway?" he asked changing the subject while trying to hide the crack in his voice.

A hot flash hit me. Uh-oh. I had forgotten until that moment; I hadn't come out to Stan yet, nor was I ready to. And I sure as hell wasn't even near ready to tell him that I love him.

So after kicking myself in the back of the brain, I answered, "Oh, uhhh…just a bad fight with my parents. It got pretty intense so I kind of panicked and just…left. I really wasn't thinking." I said all of this in such a rush that another anxious heat wave broke over me.

Stan curiously cocked his head to the side like a puppy. Jesus, why did he have to be so adorable?

"Are you…okay?" he asked, as if he didn't quite know what to say.

I tried to keep it casual. "Yeah," I said, attempting a half-smile. "Yeah, I'll be okay." Then, mirroring Stan, I changed the subject. "So you seriously carried me all the way up here and got me situated with nobody noticing?"

Stan chuckled and shook his head, like even _he_ couldn't believe himself. "Yeah," he replied. "I'm just glad I did it without waking Shelly up. I'm telling you, high school has _not_ been kind to that girl."

I nearly cringed at the image of Stan's older sister. Her braces and headgear may have been long gone, but her hormones sure weren't. Even Abby refused to be around her.

"But carrying you up the stairs was quite a workout," Stan joked. "Dude, you gotta lay off the Cheesy Poofs or you'll end up like Cartman."

I pinched my lips together and brought my fist down on the bed. Cartman. That fat fuck. I was only "friends" with him when I was young because I hoped that he would mature as he got older.

But nope. He got worse. He went from a little demon to a complete hellion. His incessant bullying and serious lack of remorse left at least one person at school crying every day. A lot of times, it was me. His mom has had him shipped off to two boot camps and three teen therapy centers in the past year alone, but he was kicked out of every single one. After each failure he'd come back to school and the nightmare would start all over again. I had so much hatred for him that I didn't know what to do with it all. Just hearing his name was enough to practically send me into a blind rage.

Stan dropped his head. "Sorry, dude," he said. "Let's just try to get some sleep. You can stay here in my bed."

"But what about you?" I asked worriedly. Where are _you_ gonna sleep?"

Stan smiled and jerked his head over the side of the bed. "Don't worry about me. I set up a sleeping bag. I'll be fine."

He took my hand and stroked it with his thumb. My heart fluttered.

"Just go to sleep, Kyle," he soothed. "I'll be right here, I promise. I'll take care of you."

I smiled feebly. "Thanks, Stan," I croaked. He smiled back and continued to stroke my hand. Bit by bit, my headache diminished as I zoned into the steady rubbing of his thumb until I could feel my eyelids slipping shut.

As I drifted off, I thought about telling Stan…telling him everything…it would be okay…he'd understand…wouldn't he? And maybe…he loved me too…maybe…

But I was exhausted from everything, and I gradually succumbed to sleep.

**...**

When I woke up, I felt like I had been asleep for days. My headache was gone, but my entire body still felt like lead.

My stomach rumbled with a painful reminder that I hadn't eaten in nearly twenty-four hours. Maybe I should have mentioned that to Stan…

Stan. Was he awake?

I looked over the side of the bed. The sleeping bag lay unoccupied...

I then realized two arms that weren't mine were wrapped around my waist. There was somebody behind me breathing steadily.

_Holy shit…_

As slowly as I could, I rolled over.

Stan was cuddled up to me…

**...**

**AND THAT IS WHERE I AM STOPPING! FOR NOW! I PROMISE YOU THERE WILL BE MORE! AND HOPEFULLY SOONER THAN LATER!**

**I'm sure you're all on the edge of your seats...**

**But don't you worry...**

**I'll be back... ;)**


	6. Chapter 6: Morning Discovery

**Okay all you crazy Style fangirls and fanboys! Ready to know what happened next?**

**Then let's read on, shall we?**

**A/N: Thanks again to Jish for betareading! This story is really coming together because of you! :) READERS! After you finish this chapter, go check out Jish's stories and thou shalt be blessed. Even if you already _have_ read his creative genius, I think we all know that any story worth reading is worth reading twice! ;) And be sure to put him on your favorites, he's got some great new projects coming!**

**...**

On the outside, I was as still as a stone. On the inside, I was FREAKING OUT. _HolyshitholyshitholyshitholyshitHOLYSHIT!_

Stan. Was. Cuddling. With. Me.

I didn't know what to feel. Was I happy? Shocked? Scared? I had no idea.

Stan wasn't gay…was he? And it's okay to cuddle with your best friend…right?

I stared at him in disbelief. He was sound asleep. God, he was so beautiful…

Cautiously, I lifted my hand and tentatively set my fingers on his black hair, mussed from sleep. I ever so lightly stroked the side of his head.

He mumbled incoherently and mushed his face in and out of the pillow. I drew my hand back. I didn't want to wake him up. I wanted him to keep sleeping…so I could gaze at that beautiful face…so I could revel in being held by him some more…so I could silently practice how I was going to tell him…

But no. Life isn't fair. Stan's eyes flickered open.

A stunned silence descended upon both of us. We stared at each other for a few brief moments.

Then Stan scrambled out of bed, wrestling with the blankets encasing him until he landed in a messy heap of limbs on the floor. He promptly recovered and emerged, his face flushed with shock and embarrassment.

He backed away from the bed as if I were a poisonous snake about to strike. Hyperventilating, he eventually backed into his desk chair and clamped his hand onto it with a deathly grip.

"Stan?" I asked in a small voice. "Were you just…?"

Stan's knees buckled. He collapsed onto his butt and covered his head with his hands. "Kyle…oh God…" he said, his voice cracking.

I leaned forward on the bed to look at him. "Stan?" I said. "Stan, it's okay, dude. It's okay. I know you were just trying to…"

Stan abruptly climbed to his feet and nervously paced the room. "Oh God…oh God…you probably think I'm a fucking creep now!"

"Stan."

"Dude, I totally understand if you don't wanna hang out with me anymore."

_"__Stan."_

"Or text me. Or talk to me. Or acknowledge my existence ever again."

_ "__STAN!"_

Stan stopped pacing and turned to face me.

I smiled sympathetically. "Stan, it's okay. Really, it is."

Stan stared at me for a moment, then returned to pacing. And ranting.

"No, Kyle, it's totally _not _okay. You have every right to do all of those things. I mean, I don't blame you, who wouldn't do all that after waking up from a stressful night to find your same-sex best friend cuddled up to you. Totally weird, right? Not to mention inappropriate. Oh Jesus Christ, what was I thinking? God, I'm such an idiot!"

Recognizing that he was losing control, he held his head in an attempt to calm himself down. Beads of sweat appeared on his forehead. I got up, went to him, and slowly guided him to the bed, where he collapsed. His breathing grew shallow. I sat down and pulled him into a hug.

"Kyle…" Stan wheezed. "I'm sorry…I'm sorry…Kyle, I'm sorry!"

I held him in my arms, rubbing his back lightly. "Shhhhhh," I soothed. "For what, Stan? What are you sorry for? Stan, calm down."

Stan tried to speak but his labored breathing got in the way. Every attempt to vocalize was blocked by a gasp for air. Acting quickly, I rummaged through the drawers of his nightstand until I found his inhaler and promptly handed it to him.

After a few puffs, he calmed down and pulled away. His face was pale. He didn't look at me.

"I'm sorry I didn't tell you," he whispered weakly. "I just couldn't help myself. But I should have told you first. I can't hold it anymore. It hurts too much. I should have told you. I'm sorry."

I craned my neck to try to look him in the eyes. "Tell me what?" I asked.

Stan squeezed his eyes and lips shut. He tensed up. He pulled away from my touch and buried his face in his hands before whispering, "Kyle…I'm gay."

Without meaning to, my mouth fell open. So it was true…

Keeping his face covered, he drew his knees up. As I looked at him, I saw a petrified boy who had held in his feelings for too long. I saw a tortured soul who just wanted to love and be loved. I saw a silent prisoner in his own skin. I saw…

I saw me. And it broke my heart.

I hugged him again. This time, he didn't resist. So I just held him. I wanted so much to protect him. I wanted to love him forever, until my dying day. I just wanted _him_.

I wanted him so much, that I knew it was time.

"Stan?" I said softly. "I've got something to tell you, too."

He took a great big sniff. I could tell he was holding back tears. "W-w-what is it?" he stammered.

I tightened my grip on him, but not too much.

But before I could answer him, there was a faint knock coming from downstairs that made us both jump. A pair of feet walked past Stan's door and down the stairs to answer it.

My heart raced. _Oh, please, don't let that be-_

"Hi, Randy," came the unmistakable voice of my father. "We are _so_ sorry to bother you this early."

We? There's a laugh. "We" probably just meant himself and Abby. I could already hear my mother still at home giving Ike a lecture on why holding your feelings in is good and emerging from the closet is evil.

"Oh, it's no problem!" I heard Mr. Marsh jovially reply. "What's up?"

"Kyle took off last night," my dad said. "We were just wondering if you've seen him or heard from him."

A pause. "Oh…my, that's…that's scary…well, _I_ haven't, but I'll run upstairs and ask Stan if _he_ has."

_Shit._ I looked at Stan with desperation.

Within fifteen seconds, both the sleeping bag and myself were shoved under Stan's bed and Stan's covers were reorganized with him tucked underneath, feigning as though he had been sleeping this whole time.

When the bedroom door opened, I held my breath and commanded my entire body to hold still, still, still.

"Stan?" Mr. Marsh said.

I heard rustling above me. "Yeah?" groaned Stan with mock sleepiness.

"Have you seen or heard from Kyle since last night?" Mr. Marsh asked.

"Huh?!" Stan said with (a little too much) shock. "Kyle's missing?" _Don't overdo it,_ I silently begged. _We've got to make this work. I don't want to go home. Not yet._

"Uhhhh…well, I didn't say _that_," said Mr. Marsh. "Mr. Broflovski and Abby are at the door and they said he took off last night. Have you seen him or heard anything from him?"

Stan dialed down the dramatization. "No, Dad, when would I have seen him? I've been sleeping. But I'll check my phone to see if he called."

After a few moments of silence, Stan confirmed, "Nope. Nothing."

Well, I guess that was good enough for Mr. Marsh. "Uh-oh. Well okay then, I'll tell them. Try to get ahold of him and let me know what happens." And with that he shut the door.

I waited a moment, then scrambled out from under the bed and let my breath loose. I didn't realize how long I'd held it. My lungs burned as I tried to even out my breathing again.

Stan put a hand on my shoulder. "Kyle, relax," he urged. "They're gone. You're safe."

I steadied my breathing but my heart continued to pound. "Not for long!" I yelped. "I can't hide in here forever! But I can't go home either!"

Stan patted me reassuringly. "Don't worry, we'll think of something. I said I'd take care of you, didn't I?"

I smiled. He was so sweet.

He smiled back. "Now what was it you wanted to tell me?"

I took a deep breath. I knew I could do this.

But right when I opened my mouth, there was another knock at the door. This time, it was at the bedroom door. I tensed up when I heard who was there.

"Stan?" Abby called. She sounded like she'd been crying. "Can I come in?"

I was back under the bed almost immediately. Not even my sister needed to know I was here.

Stan sensed my fear. "Oh!" he uttered "Uhhh, hold on!" He waited until I was under the bed, hidden and stagnant, then called, "Okay, come on in!"

The door opened. I heard Abby walk in. "Hey, Stan," she said. "Can I talk to you for a minute?"

"Sure!" Stan replied casually.

Abby walked over and sat down on the bed. Not wanting to obstruct my lungs any more, I willed myself to breathe as quietly as possible.

"Kyle ran away last night," Abby shakily began. "He, uh…got into a bad fight with our parents. I'm really scared. I don't know what to do. I've called him, I've texted him, I've left him voicemails. Nothing's worked. I'm so scared!"

Stan sighed. "I'm scared too, Ab. I haven't heard from him at all. I hope he didn't get too far."

"Could you…call him?" Abby asked. "I know you've probably tried already, but could you put it on speaker just so I can see? He'll probably answer to you instead of me right now…"

The bed creaked as Stan leaned over to grab his phone. "Sure, I'll try," he said. A few seconds later, I could hear the monotonous dial tone.

_Okay, this'll be easy,_ I thought. _I won't answer and she'll leave with Dad. I'll be fine._

Abby's voice broke my train of thought. "Hold on a second," she was saying. "What's that?"

The bed groaned again as Abby shifted herself. "Stan, what's Kyle's phone doing here?" she asked.

_Oh, fuck…_

**...**

**A/N: I didn't make up Stan's asthma, if you've seen the "Sexual Harassment Panda" episode you'll remember it.**

**See y'all next chapter! :) Keep fangirling and fanboying ;)**


	7. Chapter 7: Lost and Found

**After three trials of beta, it's ready! Thanks for putting up with all of the infidelities, Jish ;)**

**Enjoy, lovelies!**

**...**

My head began to spin as I ordered myself _not_ to have another panic attack. I felt like a caged animal, trapped with no way to escape unnoticed.

Stan began to stutter, searching for words. "Oh, uhh, uhh…"

Abby's voice took on a much more serious tone. "Stan, do you know where Kyle is?"

Stan nervously cleared his throat. "No, uh, no I do not, and, uh…that's, that's not Kyle's phone," he very quickly responded.

_Keep it together, dude,_ I silently begged Stan.

"Oh, really?" Abby retorted, her voice thick with doubt. "Then whose phone is this, Stan?"

After a way-too-long pause, Stan finally responded, "That's my cousin's phone. He, uh, came over for dinner last night and we, uh, played video games. He must have forgotten it when he left…" He trailed off. I covered my face with my hands.

There was another uncomfortable hush, and then Abby asked, "Which cousin?" _Damn, she's good…don't break, dude…_

But again, life isn't fair. I could distinctly hear the panic in Stan's voice as he blurted out, "Cartman!"

_CARTMAN?!_ Of course! He _had_ to say Cartman! He _knows_ how hearing that name makes me feel! And before I could stop myself, I punched the sleeping bag.

I froze. Above me was nothing but dead, _dead_ silence.

Then Abby's feet hit the floor with a brash _thump_. I tensed up all over and squeezed my eyes shut.

"KYLE JAMES!" was all I heard before I was mercilessly dragged out from under the bed.

I was immediately face-to-face with my sister. "Kyle, don't you scare us like that!" she scolded. "We've all been a mess all night worrying about you! We thought by this time you'd made it all the way to Denver! Why didn't you answer your phone? I _know_ that's your phone on that nightstand!"

Reeling from the rush of being dragged out, I didn't answer her. Stan watched with somewhat frightened awe. I could tell we were both thinking the same thing: _We are in _so_ much trouble._

As if to prove my point, the door flew open at that moment, and I heard two distinct voices.

"Abby, what's wrong? I heard you yelling- *gasp* Kyle!"

"Stanley! What is going on here?"

Regaining my wits, I wriggled away from my sister's grasp. "Abby, let go of me!" I demanded, clambering onto the bed next to Stan. "I'm _not_ going home!"

Looking at the heartbroken faces of Dad and Abby, I felt somewhat guilty for saying that. But I couldn't go home and face my mother's rage and my little brother's sadness and confusion at the fact that I left.

Mr. Marsh sensed the obvious tension in the room and excused himself. He urged Stan to leave as well, but Stan refused. I thought Mr. Marsh would be upset, but he just shook his head and shut the door.

"Kyle," Dad said. "We know you're still upset and you don't want to, but things have gotten really bad and we _need_ you to come home."

"Why?" I snapped. "After what happened last night, you think I _want_ to come home?"

Dad dropped his head. "We know, Kyle, but that's just the thing," he said. "Last night, your mother tried to break into your room and she and I got into a physical altercation. I managed to fend her off while Abby picked your lock with a bobby pin."

"What?" I yelled. "You knew she was trying to come after me, and you still tried to get in?"

Dad held up his hand. "Let me finish," he said. "Abby was just trying to protect you. See, I knew how upset your mother was with you, so Abby and I had this plan that we came up with in secret while you were locked in your room all day: we planned to get you and Ike out of the house and somewhere safe. We weren't sure where that was going to be, but I'm willing to do whatever is necessary to protect my kids. The thing is, we were going to wait until your mother was asleep; I expected to get into an argument with her at some point, but your sister and I didn't exactly anticipate that she would try to come after you. So again, I held your mother back while Abby picked your lock. But when we got into the room and you weren't there…" My dad held his head as though he were having a migraine. "Abby grabbed Ike and the three of us locked ourselves in his bedroom. We barricaded the door so Mom couldn't get in. Ike was crying and asking where you were…he was so scared because he didn't know what was going on."

I nervously grabbed Stan's covers and squeezed it. I so wanted to hold Stan's hand, though…

"Where's Ike now?" I asked.

"He's safe," Abby assured me. "He's downstairs with Mrs. Marsh."

I relaxed my grip on the covers. "And Mom?" I asked. I was definitely _not_ going home if she was there.

Dad and Abby glanced at each other, as if searching each other for the right words to say.

"Mom is…" Abby started, then trailed off.

Dad took the hint and jumped in. "She left."

I stared at them both, dumbfounded. "Left?" I questioned. "Like…_left _left?" I didn't know exactly what I meant by that (sometimes when I'm confused, even _I_ don't understand what comes out of my own mouth), but I wasn't sure how to ask them to elaborate.

Abby threw up an arm in a sort of shrug. "She banged on the door to Ike's room for a good long while but I guess she was too enraged to go look for something else to pick the lock with. So she got into the car and…left. We haven't seen or heard from her since one o'clock this morning."

In the silence that followed, I at first wanted to throw my arms up in the air in praise to Jehovah. This meant that if I chose to go home, she wouldn't be waiting for me. She was gone, and who gave a fuck when and _if_ she was coming back? Not me, that's for sure!

But…I still didn't want to go home. Because now there was a lingering feeling of guilt. My mother was gone without a trace. Ike was probably a traumatized mess and it was all my fault.

And then what if I was in trouble for running away? Was Dad fixing to ground me after letting me have a few nights to calm down from everything? What if Abby and Ike were mad at me? My heart wrenched with guilt. I felt like I had betrayed them, in a way.

My headache started to come back. I collapsed backward onto the bed and just stared at the ceiling, pressing my fingers into my forehead. Stan lightly (and covertly, might I add) touched my arm, and I felt a tingly sensation of comfort and love.

It was interrupted by my dad, as he stood up and came over to me.

"Come on, Kyle," he encouraged. "Get dressed and let's go home."

I didn't move a muscle. My head was throbbing and I still hadn't eaten. I was so exhausted.

Abby grabbed my gym bag, extracted my forest green Colorado State t-shirt and a pair of faded blue jeans and tossed them at me. The shirt landed squarely in my lap, but the jeans made it all the way to my face. Grimacing, I sat up and collected the outfit in my hands. Dad and Abby promptly got up and left, closing the door behind them.

I sat for a moment, fiddling with my clothes. Stan cleared his throat and asked, "Uhh…did you want me to leave too?"

I turned my head to look at him. "Oh! Uhh, no, you're good," I replied awkwardly. "I mean, it's not a big deal. We're both guys, right?"

Stan chuckled and nodded. "Yeah, I guess," he said.

I got up off the bed and took my pajamas off down to my boxers.

While I undressed and redressed, I pondered. I pondered how I was going to tell Stan. I pondered how he would react. I pondered how it would affect our friendship. I pondered if he felt the same way…

Stan's voice interrupted my thoughts. "So, um, Kyle," he said casually. "What was it you wanted to tell me?"

I yanked my t-shirt over my head and froze. Any confidence I'd had vanished.

Without really thinking, I blurted out in a rush, "Oh. I forgot…"

Working quickly, I pulled my sweatshirt on, gathered up my pajamas and stuffed them into my bag, removed Stan's socks from my feet and tossed them into his laundry basket, then grabbed my shoes (now completely dry) from the vent and proceeded to clumsily pull them on. The entire time, I was aware that Stan was giving me the same confused look he'd given me last night when I had dismissed the events that had led me to run away. But I avoided eye contact with him.

Because I hadn't forgotten. I just couldn't tell him. Not now. Not after everything that had happened in the past several hours. It would just destroy our friendship, I could feel it: I'm gay, Stan's gay. I love Stan, but he probably doesn't love me. If he loved me, he would have told me immediately after he came out to me, right?

_Right?_

I couldn't tell him. I knew exactly what he'd say. _/Oh, Kyle,/_ he'd say, sympathetically with just the right amount of imminent rejection. _/Yes I'm gay too, but I don't love you that way. If that's how things are going to be, I just don't think this friendship is going to work anymore./_

It made me sick to my stomach to think about it. My head pounded like a pile driver. I was going to need some serious Advil when I got home.

After I had successfully collected all of my belongings, I abruptly stood up and marched to the door. Best not keep Dad, Abby, and Ike waiting any longer than necessary. My palms were getting sweaty, so I fumbled with the doorknob but managed to twist it open.

I glanced at Stan, then glanced away again. I had to get out of there, and fast. But before I could shut the door behind me, I heard Stan's voice once more. "Are you sure?" he asked.

I shifted my gaze from the hallway to him. My eyes locked with his.

_Don't say it, don't say it, don't say it…_

I said it before and I'll say it again.

Life isn't fair.

"Stan, I'm gay, too. And I have a crush on you."

And with that, before I could see his reaction, I squeezed my eyes shut and jerked the door shut.

**...**

**CLIIIIIFF HANGER!**

**HANGING FROM A CLIIIIIIIFF!**

**AND THAT'S WHY HE'S CALLED CLIFF HANGERRRRRR!**

**XD Anyone who had "Between the Lions" in their childhood will remember that. Hopefully. (Don't own that song or that show btw)**

**I never meant to end up with so many consecutive cliffhangers. Cliffhangers just find me. XD**

**Hope y'all enjoyed it! See you next time ;)**

**A/N: Just want everyone to know that after this chapter, Miss Abby is going to be fading into the background. To all my Abby fans, this does not mean she will be completely obliterated! I just have plans for the rest of this story that are Kyle-centric, and Abby will be mentioned when appropriate. And please remember that the story was Kyle-centric to begin with. ;)**


	8. Chapter 8: Back to School

**I'm baaaaack ;)**

**Miss me?**

**Well school's out for summer (feel free to read that in song form) and now I have more time to focus on my wonderful fanfiction!**

**Thank you guys SO MUCH for your patience!**

**A/N: Thanks once again to my beta, Jish, for putting up with a particularly long chapter!**

**...**

The next day was Monday, and even though I begged my dad to let me stay home, he insisted that the previous day that I had spent recuperating from everything was all the rest I needed. So, because I was too tired to argue, I trudged to school. I left extra early to avoid the bus; no way was I up to riding that hell-on-wheels today.

It was 7:10 and the sun was just barely peeking over the mountains when I shut the front door. Abby and Ike had offered to walk with me, but I had (politely, because I was going that extra step) refused. I just wanted to be alone.

Yeah, yeah, I know that's a pretty ironic thing to say when I'm on my way to _school_, but if there's one thing I've learned in all my years of school, it's that you can be surrounded by people and still be completely alone. And, well, my dad denied me one more day of rest, so what else was I supposed to do?

I zipped my jacket all the way up and adjusted the collar against the biting early-morning cold. I saw nothing but the empty sidewalk in front of me. I heard nothing but the rhythmic crunching of the snow underneath my hiking boots. I felt nothing but the warmth of my gloves and the fleece inside of my jacket.

As I passed the empty bus stop, I checked my watch. 7:15. Fifteen minutes until the usual bus pickup time. If I picked up the pace, I could miss the bus-riding crowd completely. Which meant that I would miss Stan.

As if on cue, my phone buzzed in my pocket. I ignored it. I knew who it was.

Since I had arrived home the previous morning, I had been bombarded with texts, calls, and voicemails from Stan. Every single one was ignored, largely due to the fact that they all conveyed the same mantra: "Please call me, we need to talk, Kyle please just listen to me, I'm not mad at you, please answer me…" I was having none of it.

It made me angry: both at him because he wouldn't just stop harassing me and realize that I clearly wanted to be left alone, and at myself because I felt like I was being a real jerk for thinking that.

The truth was, I wanted to talk to Stan. Very badly. But after what had happened, what I'd done, what I'd _said_…I just couldn't face him. Not yet.

As I continued my walk to school, my phone pestered me three more times. I refused to touch it. All I could think about was how long this walk was taking…Jesus, no wonder my parents still made me take the bus after I'd tried to convince them before starting sixth grade that being in middle school constituted being old enough to walk all the way to school. But this walk seemed like an eternity! I was almost convinced for a moment that I was going to be late for school.

I checked my watch again. 7:25. Not even close to late for school. One hour until the bell rings, five minutes until the bus pickup. Most if not all of the bus riders were most likely waiting at the bus stop by now. Stan was probably there…

Ack! What was I doing? I needed to get my mind off of Stan. I was going to talk to him when I was ready and there was no need to waste time and energy worrying about him and how our future conversation was going to go.

To distract myself, I tried to pretend I was the bus. I pictured myself, Kyle Bus-lovski, on my merry way to South Park Middle School. I know that sounds really weird, but I felt like maybe it would make this walk end quicker. My legs were getting tired and my ears hurt from the cold. I wish I'd worn my ushanka…

I turned the last corner and I could see South Park Middle School just up ahead. I checked my watch once again. 7:30. The bus riders were getting picked up. My phone vibrated a fifth time. Stan was probably wondering where I was…

AAAAUUUGH! NO! _Stop thinking about Stan!_ my brain scolded. _Today is the one day of your life where you're not going to worry about other people, you're going to be selfish and look after yourself today! Not Stan! Stop it!_

I broke into a run. My legs ached and screamed for a rest, but I ignored them. I needed to clear my mind completely and forget everything that happened in the past 72 hours. Especially yesterday…

Coming home hadn't exactly been a thrill. Hell, the first 10 minutes had been terrible!

**…**

My dad opened the front door for me. I staggered into the living room and deposited my gym bag onto the floor before collapsing onto the couch.

My dad came over to me and lightly touched my arm. "Have you eaten?" he quietly asked.

I shook my head and off he went to the kitchen.

I remained motionless on the couch. My eyes began to flutter shut, but all of a sudden two hands took hold of my sweatshirt and started to pull.

My eyes snapped open and I grabbed the nearest pillow to steady myself. Ike was using my sweatshirt as a climbing mechanism and heaving himself up onto the couch…and on top of me. I groaned in protest as his seven-year-old weight crushed me, but he wouldn't budge.

"Hi, Kyle," was all he said, in a voice barely there, when he finally settled still.

I massaged my forehead. "Hey, Ike," I replied.

He put his hand on my shoulder and said nothing more. And there we lay. It felt kind of good, really. Like, relaxing good. Definitely not what I had expected to come home to after running away, but at least everything that I didn't want wasn't happening; no one was yelling at me and dishing out an outlandish punishment for running away, no one was hysterically crying from the memories of the previous night, no one was making scathing remarks regarding my sexuality…it was just me and my little brother chilling on the couch like it was just any quiet morning.

I think we were both starting to drift off when my phone's tri-tone text alert sang out.

I ignored it. I was too tired to talk to anybody.

"That's your phone, Kyle," Ike observed.

_Duh._

"Want me to get it?"

_Nope. Hands off. Leave it alone. Go to sleep._

"I'll get it."

_Christ…_

"Kyle? It's Stan."

My eyes widened. "Ike, put it down," I croaked.

My command fell on deaf ears. "He wants you to call him. He says…"

"Ike!" I demanded perhaps a bit too harshly. "Put. It. _Down._"

"But Kyle, I-"

"IKE!" I whirled my head around, my eyes flaming.

Ike froze, my phone perched in his hand and his index finger suspended in mid-swipe. He looked at me like I had just slapped him.

I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. Regaining my composure, I calmly held out my hand and Ike tentatively deposited my phone into it, his face unchanging.

"Thank you," I muttered. I held it for a moment, unsure of what to do with it. I just didn't want Ike messing with it, but at the same time, if it was Stan texting me…I glanced at the screen for a brief enough moment to catch, _"/I just need to talk to you…/"_

I stuffed my phone in my sweatshirt's front pocket. I didn't want to call him. I couldn't. I wasn't in the right head to speak to anyone, something I'd already made clear by the way I had yelled at Ike.

I settled back down on the couch and Ike slowly settled back down on me. I reached up and squeezed his shoulder. "Sorry, buddy," I whispered. He didn't answer me.

I could feel my phone digging into my stomach, a somewhat painful reminder that I tried to ignore.

The rest of the day hadn't been much better.

I ate little and spoke even less. I took some Advil at some point during the day, but it didn't help much.

Even after I'd snapped at him, Ike relentlessly followed me around the house throughout the day. Dad and Abby tried explaining to him that I really needed my space, but he refused to leave me be. Abby told me he was scared that if he left my side, I would run away again. If I was napping on the couch (which I did for the majority of the day), he was watching TV or curled up next to me. If I went to my room and shut him out, he'd sit outside the door and entertain himself with a toy or a book until I reemerged. Thankfully, he never followed me to the bathroom, but he did make me promise before I went that I wouldn't escape out the bathroom window that he knows very well has been permanently jammed shut since we moved here. Not even Houdini could open that thing if he was alive.

Abby and I didn't talk much. At all. She kept her distance and mostly stayed in her room Facebook chatting with friends and chowing down on Oreos. It made me feel both happy and sad. I was happy that she was respecting my space and not freaking out that I ran away or anything, but I was sad because at the same time, I wanted her attention. I had this undying urge to curl up against her chest like I used to when I was little and tell her all my troubles. But I didn't.

My dad didn't do much outside of taking care of me. I waited and waited for some kind of punishment, but it never came. He was only concerned with my well-being and trying to find my mother (who was still nowhere to be found; she wouldn't answer her phone and turned off the tracking app so my dad couldn't find her. But honestly I didn't care and I will continue not to care).

**…**

But now, as I ran up to the front doors of South Park Middle School, passing by a few early-morning stragglers, I tried to push everything that had happened over the weekend out of my memory.

As I blindly wrenched the doors open and dashed inside, I heard someone yell "Hey Kyle!" but I pretended that I didn't hear. I had absolutely no interest in interacting with anyone today. I just needed to get through the day as quickly as possible.

I didn't stop running until I reached my locker. I fumbled with the padlock while trying to catch my breath. When I finally managed to get it open, I reached into my pocket and took out my phone, placing it on the lower shelf. I decided that it would stay there for the day, so I wouldn't have to worry about He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named pestering me and I could focus on my classes.

Unzipping my backpack, I extracted my math book and traded it for my social studies book sitting on the upper shelf. I had social studies for first period and math came next. My math homework was finished so I wouldn't need that book until later.

As I was trading out textbooks, my phone buzzed again, louder this time against the metal of my locker. I don't know why I looked at it that time, but something made me glance down at it.

It was a text from, of course, Stan. The top of six missed messages read _/Just got here, wait for me at your locker./_

_Shit!_ I had to act fast. I slammed my locker shut and scrambled to snap the padlock closed. With a twist of the dial to reset it, I was off. But where to run?

I thought about running to the band room, but thought twice. If I know Stan, I knew that if I wasn't at my locker, he was going to come looking for me. We're both in Concert Band for third period (we both play trumpet, I play first and he plays second) and I usually hang out in the music room in the mornings before class starts, so chances are he'd look there first. Hiding out in any of the practice rooms wouldn't work because every morning they're filled with kids from Beginning Band getting some pre-class practice in.

I couldn't go to my first period classroom; my social studies teacher wouldn't arrive until 8:00 because he drives up from Denver every morning.

In the grand scheme of things, really the only logical place I could hide was the bathroom. So I did. I bolted to the nearest bathroom I saw (just my luck, it was empty) and locked myself into a stall. As awkward as it felt, I sat perched on the toilet and drew my knees up to my chest, hugging my backpack to my legs. I didn't want to talk to or see anybody, especially Stan. At least now I didn't have my phone. And I somehow just knew Stan wouldn't look in here.

I sat completely still and listened only to people entering and exiting the bathroom. Some actually came in to void their bladders, while others crowded the sinks and made small talk. I strained my ears to identify every voice I heard. In the end, the only voice I heard that I recognized was Butters. His voice is pretty unmistakable.

**…**

After nearly an hour of absolutely nothing but sitting, the bell rang at 8:25. I waited until the bathroom was completely cleared out, and then I emerged. Slinging my backpack over my shoulders, I merged into the crowd and covertly made my way to social studies, where I casually slipped into my desk and began setting up for notes.

The clock read 8:29. I breathed a sigh of relief and for the first time in three days, I relaxed. All of the tension that I had was suddenly gone. I felt so much better.

Then Stan walked in.

I literally forgot for four straight minutes that he and I are in the same first period.

I slammed my fist into my head and willed myself not to look at him. I felt like a total idiot.

And it didn't help that he was making a beeline for my desk. I folded my arms and buried my head into them.

"There you are!" he said.

_Don't look, don't look, don't look…_

"Dude, I haven't heard from you at all since you left yesterday! Did everything go alright at home?"

_Don't. Look. Don't. Look._

"Kyle, come on, please just talk to me. I promise that I'm not mad at you. Hey, are you free after school? I was thinking we could-"

The final bell rang, cutting him off. Stan paused, then started to stutter as he tried to finish what he was saying, only to be interrupted again by our teacher, Mr. Jameson, who warned Stan that if his butt wasn't planted in his seat in the next ten seconds, he'd be marked tardy. Yeah, Mr. Jameson's weirdly strict like that.

I shifted my head ever so slightly so I could peek half of one eye out to watch Stan, defeated, traipse to his seat across the room. When Mr. J had an epiphany that we needed a seating chart and conjured one that separated Stan and I two weeks ago, I was heartbroken. Today, I was grateful.

For about five minutes.

All of us had our eyes glued to the whiteboard as Mr. Jameson proceeded to write out the title of today's notes: "The Government of Colonial America." Yay.

I pulled out my pencil and a piece of notebook paper and began to write as Mr. J began his spiel, occasionally pausing to write or sketch something important on the board.

I watched Stan out of the corner of my eye. Every time Mr. J turned to the board, Stan would snatch a scrap of paper he'd torn off earlier and proceed to frantically scrawl upon it.

I knew what he was doing. Mr. Jameson has a strict "no note-passing" policy and only the really sly and sneaky can get away with such a crime. Stan was one of those people. Sure enough, halfway through the class, when Mr. J was sketching out the sequence of the Boston Tea Party, I saw Stan lean over to Bebe, hold the folded note out to her, and point to something written on the top of it. She nodded, accepted the note and furtively leaned over to Craig, mimicking Stan by pointing to the mystery word written on top. Craig also nodded and continued the chain. There were three passes left before it would get to me.

Rolling my eyes, I landed them back onto my notes page and copied down the vocab terms Mr. J had written on the board, pretending not to notice that there was a note headed my way.

But by some miracle, it got to me. Butters became the official deliverer, slipping it onto my desk and tapping the top, which as it turned out, bore my name.

_Well, I guess I better get it over with._ Checking to make sure Mr. Jameson wasn't watching, I slid the note into my lap and quietly unfolded it. I could feel Stan's eyes practically drilling into me.

The note read: _Dude, seriously, is everything okay? You're my super best friend, you can tell me anything. You know that. Just talk to me. Please? –Stan_

I looked back up to the front of the room. Mr. Jameson was turning. I promptly folded the note back up and stuffed it into my desk.

And there it stayed, with no reciprocation of any kind. I was well aware that Stan was continually watching me for the remainder of class, waiting for me to have some kind of reaction, but I wasn't going to give it to him. I loved that boy so very, very much, and I was just too afraid that he didn't feel the same way…

**…**

The morning dragged on at an agonizingly slow speed. Stan and I don't have second period, but I still found myself unable to concentrate on the math lesson. I was dreading the next period, because I had band, and Stan would be there. Whether I liked it or not, I had Stan on the brain.

Concert Band wasn't much better. Even though our teacher gave us a free day to relax and watch a movie since we had just had a concert last week, I couldn't enjoy it with the thought of Stan breathing down my neck. So I acted fast. I took my trumpet out of the storage room and rushed to one of the practice rooms to, well, practice. I put some random sheet music I found on the floor in the storage room that was actually written for flute on a music stand to create this illusion, but really I just practiced my scales the whole time. They needed tuning up anyway (no pun intended).

When the bell rang for lunch, I waited in the practice room for Stan to leave with everybody else, but as I predicted, _he_ waited for _me_ to come out. But just my luck, Kenny (he's still one of my closest friends and I was honestly really surprised when he joined band, but he did just that and he plays a mean trombone) met Stan at the door as he was walking out and started talking to him. This gave me time to put my trumpet away and leave in a hurry before Stan could catch me. As I swiftly escaped, I caught little snippets of the conversation:

"…you guys alright?"

"…just working some problems out…"

"…I think you should…"

But I hurried up and got out of there.

Lunch was consequently a lonely affair. I went to the cafeteria and picked up my lunch, then headed back to the bathroom, now apparently my hiding hole.

Repeating the scenario from earlier that morning, this time placing my backpack on the floor next to me, I huddled on the toilet seat and ate slowly.

After lunch, I once again relaxed a bit. I had three classes left (Language Arts, Literature, and Science) and Stan wasn't in any of them. I found myself able to concentrate better without him nearby and with my phone still safely tucked away in my locker.

School got out at 3:00, and I was out of class and off to my locker like a shot. Gathering up my things, I prepped for another long walk home.

But as I was right around the corner from the door, I felt a tug on my backpack. I froze because I thought someone (and by someone I mean Stan) was trying to get my attention, but I quickly realized that the tugging hadn't stopped and I was being dragged.

I twisted and turned, trying to break free, but my captor had a strong grip. In a panic, I wildly swung my arms and clawed at nothing, looking like a mental patient being dragged off to my cell.

My cell, it turned out, was my hiding hole.

My kidnapper didn't stop until we were both right in the middle of the now-empty bathroom. When I was finally released, I whirled around, ready to tell Stan exactly what I thought of his continuous harassment, but instead I was pleasantly surprised to find myself looking into the eyes of Kenny. I froze again, my mouth hanging slack.

He crossed his arms. "Alright, spill," he said firmly. "You've been keeping your super best friend at way more than arm's length all day, what gives?"

I sighed and ran a hand through my hair. My infamous Jewfro was long gone, hacked off right before I started middle school, but I still had curls that a thousand combs would never tame.

"Dude, it's not what you might think," I answered, my face flushing. "We're not fighting or anything, just a lot of crap happened over the weekend and I'm trying to recover from it and he's trying to be helpful and I get that and I really appreciate it but I just want to be alone right now and he won't leave me be." I sharply inhaled after spouting all that.

Kenny gave me a moment to regain my composure, then asked, "What kind of crap?"

I sighed again. I trust Kenny with my life, but there was no way in hell I was ready to come out to him. "I'd…rather not talk about it," I said dismissively. "It just sucked."

Kenny raised an eyebrow, but not with contempt. Concern.

"Are you sure?" he said. I flinched at the memory of Stan saying that yesterday, and that was what wormed it out of me. "You know you can always talk to me about anything, dude. I've always got your back."

I half-smiled. "I know," I replied. "Thanks, Ken. But I just don't want to talk about it with anybody right now. I've just got some stuff at home that I have to sort out before I can-"

I was interrupted by the bathroom door swinging open with a loud creak. Instinctively, I wheeled around to see who it was.

It was Stan.

He didn't look at me. He was looking straight at Kenny. He wasn't smiling, but he didn't look angry either.

"Kenny?" he said, as if I wasn't even there. "Can I talk to you for a minute? It's important."

Kenny looked just as surprised as I was. Sure, I wanted my space for the day, but why was Stan ignoring me so suddenly and so directly?

"Um, uhh, sure Stan!" Kenny replied jovially. He glanced back at me. "Ky? You okay?"

I looked at him, then at Stan, then back at him, then back to Stan again. Stan was the only one of the two who wasn't looking at me back.

"Uh, yeah!" I said with an equal amount of cheeriness. "I'll just, uh, see you later! I'll, uh, text you or something…" I awkwardly trailed off and slowly backed away, never taking my eyes off Stan.

**...**

**Yeah, so this one was long. REALLY long. I intentionally added yet another cliffhanger here (how do they find me?) because I felt like this chapter was getting way too long. But fear not, there will be more! Much, much more :)**

**See y'all next time!**


	9. Chapter 9: The First Step

**Guess who's back? ;) Y'all probably thought I gave up on this story, huh?**

* * *

The walk home seemed longer. Maybe because I walked slower. I wasn't exactly in a hurry to get home and I still had a lot on my mind.

But I did eventually get home, brushing past my dad, Ike, and Abby. I shut myself in my room without a word and killed three hours doing homework and reading, the entire time aware that my phone had not gone off once…

When my dad called me for dinner, I reluctantly trudged downstairs. Spaghetti and meatballs. Yay.

For the first fifteen minutes, we ate slowly and silently. Needless to say, it was awkward. I avoided eye contact with anyone and picked away at my plate. I hadn't had much of an appetite for the last few days. The noodles looked like ripped-out human innards and the meatballs were Cajun of all things. I hate Cajun. I wished I had water. My mouth was on fire from one microscopic piece.

My dad broke the silence by clearing his throat and announcing that our mother had been found. He didn't immediately say how, not that I cared. As it turned out, she drove all the way to New Jersey, Newark to be exact. This most likely meant she was with her parents.

"Grandpa Levi called me and told me where she was," he continued. Oh, so that's how—thanks a lot Dad, I _really_ wanted to know… "I haven't spoken to your mother personally yet. I know things have been a little rocky for us, but I promise you three that as soon as I'm able to get in contact with her, we'll start making plans for reconciliation and-"

My fist came down on the table. My dad and siblings jumped and looked at me with shock. I huffed with annoyance at myself for once again letting my anger steer me. Now I had to explain myself.

"No," I said firmly. "I don't want her to come home."

My dad sighed and rested his head in one hand, his fork teetering in the other. "Kyle, I understand how you're feeling about this, I really do. But if we just gave it a chance, then maybe we could-"

"NO!" I raged, glaring at my dad with intensity that scorched through his retinas. Ike cowered slightly and Abby put a hand on his shoulder. I was aware that I was scaring both of them, but I was so enraged that I didn't care. "If she was so willing to boot me out of the house and disown me in an instant, then I don't want anything to do with her! I don't want to talk to her or see her or be near her ever again! Abby and Ike can do whatever the hell they want but I refuse to associate with that…that…_BITCH!_" Okay, so I wasn't very creative with the name-calling that time, but what can I say, my mind just doesn't work right when I'm angry.

Pushing back from my chair, I stomped up to my room and slammed the door. I grabbed my phone, my hands shaking, and was moments away from calling Stan…

But I collapsed onto the bed before I could do anything. I couldn't even cry, I was that upset. I swallowed and winced in surprise at how raw my throat felt. I ignored it, though. It was probably from all the yelling and then my body urging itself to cry when there were no tears to be shed.

Sometime later, Abby knocked on my door. I went ahead and let her in; honestly, I was getting tired of shutting my family out.

She entered the room with something tucked under her arm, a wistful look in her eyes but a smile on her face.

Sitting down on the bed next to me, she placed the mystery object aside and pulled me into a hug. I considered not responding, but I had been craving her affection for so long that I gave in and wrapped my arms around her waist, nuzzling my head into her chest.

"First of all," she began. "I just want to make sure there's no doubt in your mind that we love you."

I just nodded. My throat wasn't agreeing with talking. Where did we put the cough drops?

"I know things have been really rough with Mom, but Dad's still here. You know how much he loves and supports you, and just so you know, he isn't mad about your outburst at dinner. He understands, believe me. And so do I.

"Ike and I love you beyond all comprehension. You're my little brother and I would do absolutely anything to protect you, even if it means protecting you from our mother. Ike is having a really hard time understanding everything that's going on, but through all of this crap he's got one person on his mind and that's you. He really looks up to you as his big brother and when you hurt, he wants to do anything he can to make it better."

I blinked and sniffed. Oh, so _now_ the tears were deciding to make their return appearance. I fought them tooth and nail; I couldn't break down in front of my sister again. I already felt weak enough as it was.

Abby took a deep breath. The type of deep breath she takes when she's about to say something important. Uh-oh. It better not be about Mom. Was she just buttering me up with all of this sentiment just so she could try and convince me to rebuild my relationship with my mother? Well, regardless, I refused to lash out at her for it. I held my breath and willed myself to stay calm.

But I wasn't as ready as I thought I was for what she really had to say.

"But with everything that's happened recently," Abby started, with a tone of uncertainty as to how to put this, "Dad thought it would be a good idea…for you…to start…going to therapy…?"

I looked up at her with absolute bewilderment. _Therapy?_ What the _hell_ did I need therapy for? She _had_ to be joking.

Abby's mouth became a tight line. "Well? I kind of agree with him."

I loosened myself from her grasp. "What the _fuck_ do I need therapy for?" I demanded to know, attempting to stay calm. "I'm not crazy, I'm not depressed, I'm not a spaz—I'm not any of that crap!"

Abby squeezed my shoulders. "I know, I know. But Dad just thinks it would be a good idea for you to talk to someone. Your anger is at an all-time high and your happiness is at an all-time low. A therapist can teach you how to cope with those things and more."

I cast my eyes downwards and leaned back into her chest without saying a word. She was right. I felt like a monumental turd. I almost wished Shelly was there with us. She had been calling me and Stan and our friends that lowbrow word for years, but this was the first time that I ever felt like I actually deserved it.

"But do you want to know _why_ I agree with him?" Abby asked.

When I didn't answer, she released me and said, "Well, I want to show you something."

Picking up the mystery object she had brought into the room with her, she got up from the bed and walked over to my TV. I got a better view of the mystery object and discovered that it was a videotape.

Abby switched on the TV and popped the tape into the VCR (God knows why I still had that old thing) before snatching the remote and sitting back down next to me.

The screen flickered a few times, and then an image of two small children flashed up. Two _very_ familiar-looking children.

It was four-year-old me and six-year-old Abby. Dressed in our Hanukkah best, we were all smiles, anxiously tugging at our clothes. I could hear my mother's voice. "Gerald, I just can't get the damn thing to connect…"

I tensed up and pinched my lips at the sound of her voice, but Abby's hand on my knee relaxed me.

My father, who was holding the camera, quickly answered, "It's the green cord, Sheila, just push it in!" Then, clearing his throat and assuming a voice like that of an anchorman, he proclaimed, "Well, our radio went on the fritz last month, and we just got this amazing brand-new stereo system as a Hanukkah gift from Sheila's parents, and we have two little helpers who have just been itching to try it out."

The two of us giggled in response and began hopping around.

"Alright!" my mother called again from off-camera. "We're good to go!"

Moments later, a very familiar piano riff blasted from the stereo. I knew that song. My hand flew to my mouth and I stifled a choked sob.

Dancing Queen.

Little Abby and little me shared a glance and gleefully shrieked as our favorite song began.

And we danced.

Abby put her arm around me. "You always loved ABBA," she said to me softly.

I buried my face in my hands. I did love ABBA.

"Keep watching," Abby urged, rubbing my shoulder.

The camera zoomed in on my sister first. Jumping and spinning in circles, she was smiling, showing off her newly lost front teeth. Her giggle was infectious.

Then the camera moved over to me. My pearly white baby teeth gleaming in the light of the room, I was swaying my arms in time with the music.

It was right then that Abby paused the video. I looked at her for an explanation. She smiled warmly and said, gesturing towards the screen, "Do you know why I agree with Dad? Because I want that Kyle back."

I looked back at the screen quizzically. Abby continued.

"Look at that little boy. That happy little boy who didn't have a single care in the world. Kyle, when you danced, you danced like you meant it. It came from your heart. You had so much joy in you and it showed.

"I want that Kyle back. This is the Kyle Broflovski that I know and love. Happy, smiling, and full of joy. I miss him."

I turned to look at her. Her eyes shone with tears. I practically fell back into her arms, quiet sobs escaping from my throat (which pulsated with pleas to stop). I didn't say it out loud, but I missed that Kyle too. And if therapy was the first step in getting him back…then so be it.

I didn't even have to say it. Abby knew.

However, our sweet sibling moment was put on hold as my phone rang. My heart soared. My confidence was boosted tenfold and I hoped that it was who I thought it was.

I snatched my phone from my nightstand and read the caller ID. It was Kenny.

Confused, I answered it, thinking he probably butt-dialed me. "Hello?" I said.

"Kyle?" came a desperate Kenny from the other end. "Have you seen Stan?"

* * *

**DUN. DUN. DAAAAAAAAAH. Things are getting serious! Will our hopeless romantics find each other and themselves? Did that make any sense at all? No? Well, uh...**

**MOVING ON! Thanks once again to Jish, the best beta like no one ever was.**


End file.
